


The After Party

by Sintina



Series: Between Movies [1]
Category: Dragon Ball, DragonBallZ
Genre: Banter, Bickering, Booze and Bad Words, Character Development, Drunkenness, F/M, Loving Marriage, Married Life, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:10:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintina/pseuds/Sintina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place immediately after Battle of the Gods.<br/>Vegeta & Bulma know how to party!<br/><br/>Gratuitous goodness evolves into legitimate character development!<br/><br/>"Between Movies" series, taking place between Battle of Gods and Revival of F.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watery

Vegeta finally felt a twinge inebriated; rare for the Prince of Saiyans. For starters, it took A LOT to even get him buzzed. 

“Earthling alcohol is like water,” Vegeta once said at a Capsule Corps dinner party unveiling some invention or another. Earth’s atmosphere didn’t allow the appropriate plant species needed to make ~real~ alcohol, he insisted. Just another weakness of the pathetic planet! 

Tonight, he was really drinking the watery excuse for alcohol, alright. Bulma’s birthday party moved indoors sometime before midnight; to a vast bar/entertainment area, just off the second living room, in the largest of the Briefs’ compound of dome houses. The lighting was dim, mostly reds and purple bulbs, illuminating a dark space with a massive round bar at one end; pool tables, air hockey, dart boards, at the other end; and lots of plush seating everywhere. The vibe was a basement night club in some major city. 

No one blamed him for indulging. The kids were all long-since passed out (or up playing, no one really cared) in their rooms upstairs. Everyone who could get a little tipsy was certainly doing so tonight! They’d all very nearly been killed- _for real this time_ \- by a foe so deadly even Goku had no chance. A living God of Destruction. Goku became a God himself to fight Beers, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Beers spared them because the God seemed to appreciate Goku as an opponent. Goku didn’t share any of the details of his many conversations with Beers. Piccolo seemed to know what went down, but he wasn’t talking either. 

Vegeta. Did. Not. Care. 

He was going to be the God next time, Kakarrot said so, and that’s all he needed. There would be a next time. There was _always_ a next time for the last remaining Saiyans in the universe. 

So, as soon as Beers left, Vegeta made it his personal mission to get as shit-faced as possible in celebration of surviving the first foe none of them could contend with. He was celebrating more than survival, more than his wife’s birth. Vegeta’s power, for a brief time today, surpassed Kakarrot’s. Supremely passed Kakarrot’s, in fact. The Prince of Saiyans landed several blows on Beers in mere Super Saiyan form, whereas Kakarrot, as Super Saiyan 3, hadn’t landed a single punch. He laughed haughtily to himself and downed another bottle in one long gulp. 

“Bring me more of that first one!” he barked at the overworked and sweaty bartender. That poor guy should’ve called it quits when the crowd rolled in from outside, all demanding drinks at once, but Bulma insisted she’d pay him double for three more hours of service. Now he was one man in a room of nearly twenty drunk super heroes and their extended families and friends. And he was running out of booze. The bartender swallowed hard and handed Vegeta the last bottle of the type the Saiyan liked. Vegeta sneered, snatched the decanter from the weakling’s grasp and turned it up, chugging.

Yes, this stuff was weak. But it was finally affecting him. That pleasant heady feeling of detachment, he hadn’t felt in many years, perhaps decades. His throat was stinging with what might be called a burn, because this crap was so impure. Earthlings didn’t know anything about the enjoyable smoothness of real booze. He tried to imagine the feel of wines and grogs he shared with Raditz and Napa through the years. He used the memories to overlap the harsh bite of this weak, watery drink. It worked relatively well. A Saiyan Prince can override his body with his mind. Just like pushing himself past his limit in training. He treated drinking this swill, to the point of inebriation, as a physical challenge. 

After all, he deserved to celebrate! He, the Prince of all Saiyans, finally bested that 3rd rate Kakarrot’s pitiful bloodline! Sure, it’d taken nearly a decade longer than he would’ve wished, but he was better than Kakarrot, today, even for a moment. 

Because of her. Because of that whip of short blue hair catching his attention across the room. And her shrill, ridiculous, glass-piercing drunk laugh. 

Her. He was better than Kakarrot today because of _his wife._ “Mrs. Vegeta,” Beers called her. Ha. No one else would dare call her that! He smirked. He would. Oh yes. He’d keep that one tucked in his armor for some particularly choice occasion. Just imagine her fucking face scrunching up in insult! Next time she gave him some fool order, or wretched demand, in that damned barking tone of hers.

“Do it yourself, Mrs. Vegeta!” That’s how he’d say it. He expected her to slap him. Then he’d grab those miniscule, weak, little wrists. She’d learn to quit slapping him. He admitted she was better about it than she used to be, saving her patented Bulma slaps for much more deserving subjects, like Kakarrot. He laughed to himself, recalling the beating that weakling so deserved, at the hands of his mate, earlier. Then he returned to the image of grabbing her wrists if she slapped him again. 

If? 

Ridiculous! _When_ she slapped him again, he’d squeeze her wrists just enough, just so she squeaked… or growled. He didn’t know which response he liked better, mock-fear or mock-anger. She was never afraid of him anymore, nor ever truly angry. Long since, Vegeta’s mate had settled into a respectful, ritualistic, brawling banter with him. He smiled at himself. All their real fight long behind them, these days it was just to remind each other who was the prouder, righter, better half in this relationship. The best part? Their sparing matches came out about 50-50. There was no greater pride than knowing you had an equal in your mate. 

He’d been staring at her this whole time, he realized. Leaving his own mind for a moment, Vegeta listened in on Bulma’s idle banter with Dende and Piccolo about New Nameck; taking another swig, he eyed her body up and down. 

Hmph. ‘There should be a New Vegeta,’ he huffed to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he was intoxicated. He’d passed any sort of angry-drunk stage long ago. When he was younger, he’d always antagonize Raditz and Napa when he was drunk. Or the three Saiyan warriors would go pick a fight with another of Freiza’s elite squads. Alcohol always meant brawling in Vegeta’s past. Now, his hackles weren’t even raised by all the New Nameck bullshit. Raised… that was a stupid word… his mind gurgled at him. Vegeta smirked, thinking of what was actually rising in his stomach… and groin. 

He’d been focused on her so long, he could now _smell_ her. The hairs at the very base of his neck stood alert to the scent of his woman. That familiar rush of conquest coursed in his veins. Even her cackling couldn’t cool him down. Today was her birthday, they’d all nearly lost their lives, and he’d become stronger than ever, strong enough to soak the punch of a God, because of _her_. 

And she deserved to be thanked – properly- for it. He hadn’t gotten her a birthday present, after all. Vegeta smirked to himself at the thought. The Prince of Saiyans would satisfy his lust, and soon.


	2. Prince of Laying

“Woman!” he shouted at her. Bulma turned angry eyes at that too-familiar call. She thought she’d finally gotten him to shout for her as “Wife,” which was a little more respectful, at least. She glowered daggers to remind him of his faux pas. 

He squinted in recognition and grouched: “Wife, whatever! Get over here!” Bulma looked him up and down like he was crazy. He was perched on a barstool, one foot on the seat of the stool, his knee practically bent into his chin, which rested on a hand atop that knee. The other leg dangled lazily and swayed slightly from the top of the stool. He raised his chin and squared his shoulders when he saw her eye-balling him. His hand leaving his knee and, instead, stretched out along the bar, in a lounge. He smiled, because he knew the pose highlighted the best bulges of his upper and lower body; and he knew she noticed. Bulma was in a good sparing spirit; she’d been drinking all day. Even when Beers first showed up, she was already lit. In the play-fighting tone this couple most often used to communicate, she screeched: 

“How dare you command me over there like some dog?!” Bulma stood in her mock fighting stance too; the one she knew drove him crazy. Hands on her hips, legs spread wide like a V and leaned forward scolding him with her cleavage spilling out. If they were alone in this vast room, he’d pounce on his woman. He knew she wanted him to. As it was, he glowered right back at her. The room went quiet to watch their showdown. Let them watch. It turned them both on. He chuckled contemptuously. Without raising his voice any higher than she’d need to hear him across the room: 

“Don’t screech at me in front of our guests, shrew.”

“Shrew?!” her high pitch caused Chiaotzu and Oolong to cover their ears “Name calling on MY birthday?! You bastard!” and she threw an empty beer can at him; which he caught, crumbled and chucked aside in a smooth motion, without a care. 

Vegeta smiled and shrugged his head, ever so slightly, indicating the wall behind him. The clock on the wall told everyone it was quarter past midnight. “Not your birthday anymore, woman,” he smirked, “Now do as I say! Don’t make me come get you!” He leaned back further on the bar and snatched his bottle, “I’m comfortable,” he smiled around the mouth of the drink, finishing it all in another gulp.

Bulma fumed. Then, with an easy smile, turned her back on him and began to stalk off in the other direction. Before her third footfall, she was in the air. Kicking and thrashing, she sailed across the room and landed softly between Vegeta’s legs. He turned her quickly, clutching her hair and neck forcefully, and buried his mouth in hers, holding her tiny waist in the crook of his other elbow and pressing her against him. 

Vegeta was never one for PDA! And here she was, deep in his embrace, drowning in his mouth’s power over her… in front of everyone! Bulma always melted at the heat and intensity of his touch. His mouth may not express much in words. But, in his kisses, her prince spoke secrets to the depths of her soul. And for the first time, here he was, expressing all that fire, for all to see! 

The dangerous, naughty nature of their sexual relationship ended years ago, when they became more than fuck buddies, and turned into lovers. The passion was always there, every time, because for them, sex was more than sex, it was a battle of wills they’d never tire of. But the danger, the risqué, the ‘Kami, what am I doing?!’… she hadn’t felt _that_ in years. Until now! She could hear gasps in the room around her. Feel eyes peeled on them. What a rush! 

His palm kneaded the nape of her neck; his other hand roved the slope of her spine. She moaned in his mouth and he growled low and throaty. Screw the onlookers! This is her house, _her_ fucking party, _her_ damn husband! If they don’t like it, they can leave! She smiled against his lips. 

He tasted of hard liquor. He’d never tasted that way before. And it thrilled her. She was finally oblivious to the bystanders as she peddled her knees need-fully between his; forcing her pelvis and hips to slide up and down against him. Her arms clung tight around his straining neck and taut shoulders. 

Master Roshi was passed out, snoring in one of the couches. Oolong shook him, trying to wake him, but it was useless. The turtle hermit was going to be pissed he missed a show like this!

Yajirobe quietly pulled out a cell phone and hit record, but Korin swatted it from his hand with his cane. 

“Ouch! Geez!” the stout samurai complained, shaking his bruised, red fingers as they throbbed, “that phone was expensive!”

Korin hummed “You’re lucky it's the only thing broken. Imagine if Vegeta ever found out you had that video, hmm?” and the cat’s chin rose with his usual wise, old smug superiority. 

Yajirobe gulped loudly. But figured he’d keep watching, since he could always take a mental video. 

Chi Chi was the first to turn away. Not out of modesty, but jealousy. Goku had no passion for her, the way Vegeta had for Bulma. None. She imagined if Beers had slapped her across the face, her Saiyan husband would have remained in hiding, still trying to watch and learn from Beers’ move set before revealing himself. Her father, maybe her wonderful Gohan or Goten, might have retaliated on her behalf… but even they couldn’t have been as enraged as Vegeta when his beloved wife was slighted. Vegeta may be a monster, Chi Chi thought, but he was a monster with grown up, adulthood passions that he had no problem expressing. Her husband was a man-child. A third son she had to be responsible for just like the other two. He was useless in the bedroom and worse as a father. Piccolo was more Gohan’s father than Goku! And Goten barely spent one full day of his entire life in his father’s presence. Before the fight today, during the whole process of becoming a God, finding out they were going to be grandparents, _everything_ that happened today, her husband hadn’t said one word to her. Not until later, after the fight was long over. And then he’d only made some silly joke about how being a grandma must make her feel old! Chi Chi fought back a lump in her throat at the slurping, moaning sounds coming from the bar. She’d long since come to accept her fate in her marriage. But that didn’t mean she could just sit and gawk like the others.

The inevitable cry of “Get a room” came from none other than Yamcha, of course. Everyone wondered how he could still be carrying that torch after she’d had a child with another man? Chi Chi heard Gohan laugh in response and glanced over at his place in one of the booths, with some food and drinks in front of him and his wife. Videl was cuddled into his lap, his arm casually around her, resting his forearm on the table. His other hand rarely left Videl’s stomach all night. He said something low and she giggled into his chest. Chi Chi smiled a great deal of pride. She’d raised a son who wasn’t as vulgar as Vegeta, but could at least show his wife some genuine affection. Even in mixed company! He wasn’t a child, like his father. And he wasn’t a monster like the only other living Saiyan. All Chi Chi’s cares and self-pity vanished. She could even laugh at the way Yamcha jokingly threatened the couple at the bar with a ki blast simmering in his open hand. 

Vegeta taunted with wicked mockery: “Blast this woman? In her house? After she’s fed and entertained you all day?” cocking his head and shrugging, “Go ahead human! I won’t even have to be the one to kill you!”

Bulma cleared her throat to speak, and avoid the festering fight. Then she giggled, with a lustful blush, clearly drunk on more than wine, and waved to the party with outstretched arms: “I’m afraid my husband failed to give me a birthday present!” she squeal-slurred, “So, stay and party as long as you want, everyone! We’re gonna go fix that!” and she bounced on his knee as she said so. Vegeta let loose a hearty, wide-mouthed laugh that echoed across the room. She turned and beamed at him. He rarely found any of her jokes funny! 

Her prince covered her body in the softest glow of his ki once more and before she could blink they were up in their bedroom, hovering just slightly above their own mattress.


	3. Salty

Vegeta dropped her playfully onto the plushness and stayed hovering just a foot above her. 

“Do you care about this one?” he asked, eyeing her dress. He’d made that mistake before and his ears took a week to quit ringing from her incessant screeches. 

She understood and excitedly shook her head 'no!' 

The dress sizzled and crackled white hot against her skin for a second and then it- as well as all of her underwear- disintegrated to less than dust in the air around them. She laughed naked below him; she always loved that stupid trick. Vegeta’s eyes scanned her nude body and he was surprised, as always, by how appetizing she looked; how easily the sight of her turned him on, even after all this time. 

“You too!” she teased, “You’ve never done it for me!” 

Vegeta arched an eyebrow, but accepted the challenge and soon his own clothing burned up into nothingness around him. He fell down on top of her, roughly, then, because he’d drunkenly focused the same smidgen of energy he used to keep himself aloft to burn away his clothing. She guffawed, delighted by his simple mistake. He rose up on his hands, embarrassed for a millisecond, then his eyes turned serious and he growled: 

“This is your present, wife,” he softened only slightly on the word, “What do you want of me?” 

“Fuck me flying,” she said without hesitation.

Of course. He knew it was her favorite and they hadn’t done it in a very long time. An idea quickly sparked. After all, this wasn’t just about her birthday; it was also his appreciation for her making him stronger than Kakarrot for a few brief moments. He shot a sheet up from the bed and draped them both in it, pulling her up and close to him in the air, the sheet wrapped around them. He hovered them upright and out their terrace doors to hang in the air above their balcony. He flew straight up, high above Capsule Corps, but below the cloud line so she could look out in all directions. She gasped as they ascended and clung tighter around his chest, her upper arms hitched up into his armpits. The wind was a little loud up here, and their sheet snapped and furled like a sail or a flag. So he bent his face close to her ear. Cheek to cheek, he asked: 

“Where do you want to go? I’ll ravage you over the ocean, the desert, or atop a skyscraper,” he dug his nails into her flesh as he said it; portend of what was to come. The sounds she made in response to his warm growl in her ear, and his scrapes on her back, made him sorry he’d asked. He should just take her right here… hard… now. She was so damn indecisive, this could take all night! 

“The ocean sounds amazing!” she chirped, quicker than he expected. “Somewhere it’s still night. I don’t want to get sun burnt, Vegeta!”  
He shook his head lightly that she’d even think of such a stupid concern right now and commanded her to hold on. She nuzzled into his chest and closed her eyes. The speed she knew they’d be flying wouldn’t allow for sight-seeing anyway. And it was dark. Her cheek flattened so comfortably against his sternum; his pecs firmly cushioning either side of her head. Flying with him was always amazing, but flying naked? They’d never done this before and Vegeta didn’t know what he started tonight. She’d definitely want to do more of this! 

Somehow, the sheet stayed toga-wrapped around both their bodies during the swift journey. Vegeta slowed and spotted a beach, where he unfurled the sheet and dropped it, so they could reclaim it later, when they were done, and it wouldn’t get wet. Bulma shivered against him, exposed entirely to the night air. But she was surprised she didn’t actually feel quite as cold as she imagined. She looked around as they drifted lazily away from the beach, out over the vastness of open water. 

“Where are we?” 

“The Tropics,” he grunted. Still dark out and warm enough that she wouldn’t ruin the entire damn experience bitching about the cold. He rolled over in the air and let her sit astride him to get a better view. He casually crossed his legs and rested his hands behind his head as if he were sprawled out on the couch, rather than midair over the ocean. Bulma sat straight up and peered in all directions. 

“It’s beautiful here!” she squealed. Even in the darkness of night, the reflection of the moon and stars on the water let her see for miles. There were little islands off to their right and left. She closed her eyes, threw her head back and sailed on the splendid sound of the surf riding off into pitch nothingness. When she opened her lids again, she gazed at the gloriously dark horizon of black sea on ebony sky. Vegeta’s hips rocked her a little, pulling her out of her reverie. She placed her hands on his wide chest, with a longing look, deep into his eyes- inky and endless like the horizon beyond them. 

She may never have been more beautiful; cropped hair whipping up in the wind, smiling a smile that looked like she might burst into tears from being too happy. He scoffed. This was much sappier than he’d intended, this whole thing. 

“What?” she grinned, grinding on him, just a bit, and in a patronizing little voice: “Is Prince-y all impatient for the main event?”

“Tease,” he spat; with just a hint of a smirk. He liked it. She knew that. She ground harder, longer strokes of her moistness over his length, sandwiched between his lower abdomen and the fire of her femininity. His hips twitched up for the real thing. But she squeezed her hips to keep him out just a bit longer. Her fingernails played with the sculpted ridges and pits of musculature along his abs and chest and arms. He growled a low, hungry moan; his face hardened to a sneer. Attack was imminent. She knew and bent down low over him, her breasts grazing along his, and puckered her lips just on the feather’s edge of her Saiyan’s own. There was a full-body twitch. 

And Vegeta was on top of her, holding her tightly about the waist, again in the crook of his elbow. His other hand kneaded near-bruises into the back of her neck through a palm-full of turquoise hair. He plunged all of himself into her at once, his mouth and his cock. She gasped hard in the kiss, her eyes flashing open. And he pounded away like a wild thing; like all the violence and rage and pride that he was; pure muscle and flesh. Bulma’s mind disappeared utterly. All the unexpressed anxiety, fear and adrenaline of the fight with Beerus, the whirlwind stresses she’d been attempting to drink away, came crashing through her body, obliterated in the heat of his thrusts. The kind of sex that releases tension you didn’t know you had, fucking that cures what ails you. 

Knowing it was time, Vegeta released her mouth and she screamed her first orgasm to the stars. Arching away from him as far as she could in his iron grasp, Bulma throbbed and panted for more. Vegeta slowed down and went deeper. On one thrust, he stayed deep as he could and raised his arm away from her waist to pinch one of her nipples and twist it between thumb and forefinger. She was crying out pleasure-agony, suspending in the air by only his palm kneading her neck and his loins deep inside her. She felt the rush that she might fall as he squeezed and began to slurp the other breast. The height was intense, she realized. Every time passion threw her head back, she was looking down at the black nothingness of churning midnight waters. So, she dug her nails in his flesh and tightened her legs about his waist, like a kitten clinging to a tree branch. Her body was writhing now and she inadvertently set the pace of his ins and outs with her pumping hips. 

Vegeta was exactly where she was, far away in the ecstasy of what they were doing to one another, body and soul. Like her, he hadn’t realized how much aggression he held deep in his muscles, tensed up from the near-death experience with Beerus. Because her hot, wet silk, clenching him repeatedly on his thrusts, was somehow not enough to satisfy the primal wrath within, he bit her shoulder, her collarbone, her long neck and in response, she came again.

Kami, her brain returned at the pleasure-pain of his bite marks. Bulma had to tell him all the relief he was giving her, all the joy, the gratitude she was feeling for her husband right now. 

“I love you!” she called out, and panted playfully: “I know you hate loving me too, beca-,” 

Then another, unexpected, orgasm, as his tip ground into her cervix: “AHH! My _Prince_!” she shrieked, her body convulsing. He climaxed on that last one; there was nothing Vegeta loved more than being called ‘prince.’ 

But his mind flooded back, too quickly, panting, he pulled out and was hit with a slew of emotions. He held her tightly, wrapping his legs around her thighs, as she’d lost the strength to cling to him any longer and her feet fell limp below him. He then encased her upper body with his arms crossed behind her back, one hand clutching each of her shoulders- too hard. 

“Damn it, wife,” he growled in her ear, hugging her even more tightly. 

“Hmm?” She hazed at him through a sex-drunk smile; only just beginning to feel the pain of his embrace. 

“Fool! How can you say that?!” his face buried in her neck, his anger rising. 

The drunkenness disappeared from Bulma and she focused on him, intently.

Too late, he was on a rant now, angrily spouting: “I belittled myself in some stupid song and dance to protect you and our son, I put up with the foolish assholes at your _insipid_ party…”

Bulma believed he was venting today’s stress, all coming to the surface, like it had for her. In sweet solemnity, she soothed: “You became stronger than Kakarrot when Beerus hit me…” 

He looked dead at her, his manhood twitched against her skin at the sound of Bulma using Goku’s Saiyan name to please him. 

“Yes.” He closed his eyes and his head turned slightly away. Through tightly clenched teeth: “ _You_ made me stronger than him,” a growling exhale, “And yet _you_ still claim to believe I could _hate_ …” 

She realized what she’d said in her ecstasy. “Oh!… no!…” She thought of it as a tease, meant to say it sarcastically, but his sex stole the words and tone, she tried to explain. But he cut her off, clinging to her fast and hard again, his teeth gritting rage:

“Vile woman! You never _fucking_ think…” 

“Vegeta!” she struggled to reposition and see his face, but he kept his chin firmly clasped over her shoulder. His grip was really beginning to hurt. She’d completely forgotten how sensitive her silly super Saiyan could be! He was right, though. She hadn’t thought. 

He realized the wretched watery excuse for libation was still in his system. His emotions, damn it all, weren’t rational. Vegeta knew, but was powerless to act on the knowledge. He had no choice but to get the rage out. 

Before Bulma could attempt an apology, his ki spiked and the energy singed her skin. She choked on the words in her throat as the air around them became too hot to breathe. Focusing the simmering energy away from her, towards his hand, Vegeta strangle-howled down into the waves below: 

“Damn it, woman! I _**love**_ loving you!” 

Vegeta's ki blasted through his outstretched palm into the ocean, illuminating the sea down to its depths for a moment. Then Bulma’s back was pelted by the jet of a million droplets soaring up from the force of her Saiyan's energy. 

And they stayed just like that, clinging to one another in silence in the salty, muggy air. Their juices and sweat fell quietly into the sea, running off their bodies after the unexpected shower. They did nothing but breathe together. Finally, Bulma kissed his shoulder, very slightly. And at last, he loosened his grip. He shifted her to be cradled in his arms and Vegeta silently carried her to the beach and their long-forgotten sheet.


	4. Sandy

They lay listening to the waves and star-gazing for a long time. Bulma Briefs was the most brilliant woman on Earth. She proved her superior intellect daily by being the only human in history who could handle a Saiyan husband. There was a proper cocktail of respect and not taking any shit that needed to be applied _constantly_. It was a tenuous and precise science. And she was damn good at it. Bulma’s mind worked over a dozen ways to smooth things over. This had to be done just right. Or it’d ruin the rest of their night. There was no point trying to get the upper hand right now. He’d been amazing all day. Sweet, supportive, sensual and sexy, not to mention all the brave beat-taking he’d endured with Beerus. And her heat-of-the-moment “hate” statement made him feel completely unappreciated. How to apologize or explain what she’d meant? She was trying to joke about how difficult she was to love. ‘I know you hate loving me because I’m such a bitch all day,’ that sort of thing. There was no point explaining now, the damage was done. Apologies would only be met with gruff disinterest. Excuses would anger him and turn him off talking about it. Compliments, he’d see as sucking-up and insincere. Finally, she settled on humor, a way to get a rise out of him.

“You killed a whole ecosystem with that ki blast of yours,” she smirked, not looking at him. 

“Hmph,” he shrugged, “Picture an innocent coral reef smoldering to ash- before words fly from your face next time!”

“I will,” trying to stroke his ego: “if you don’t make me cum so hard in the moment!”

“So scream my name like a normal person!” Vegeta barked. His eyes scrunched up, a decision made: “One day, I’ll stop being so graciously gentle. And you won’t be able to yammer on the whole time!”

“Mmmm… I can’t wait…” Bulma rolled over on her side to face him. She swirled one of her fingers along his bicep, pestering. Plus, she loved the smooth moistness from the sea water. And she knew she was winning. The night was well on its way to recovery. 

“I should have dropped you in the ocean,” his voice much calmer. Still looking at the stars, “As soon as you said it.” 

“Your instinct was to hold on tighter, lover-boy,” she loved how his skin tightened beneath her finger as his muscle clenched. 

“Watch it, woman…” 

“Watch what? A temper tantrum worthy of a Super Saiyan?” she knew that’d do it. Vegeta pounced her, pinning her wrists on each side of her head and pressing his pelvis hard into her own; sinking her round ass deeper into the forgiving sand beneath their sheet. Bulma assumed this would be scarier if they weren’t naked; and sexier if he wasn’t flaccid, but she held her chuckles. 

“Even worse,” he sneered, close to her face, eyes wicked, “a tirade worthy of _Mrs. Vegeta_.” Bulma gasped and twitched a wrist up to slap him. But of course, she couldn’t, because he had her pinned. Damn it! She growled and averted her eyes. He knew he had a good one and even anticipated the rain of slaps he had coming! 

“Get off me!” she scoffed, grudgingly defeated. 

Smirking, he rolled and resumed his position looking at the sky, but with his arms casually and comfortably behind his head. Oh, that was twice as satisfying as the scenario he’d imagined earlier. He couldn’t wait for her to try and beat that. 

Bulma would give him this one. He didn’t deserve it, but she was feeling generous. And he looked so damn proud of himself. She knew, the moment Beerus called her that, she’d never live it down. Oh, but she’d get him back. She wasn’t nearly done with her husband tonight. She stretched her arms and legs out long and lean. Blood flowed to all the sore spots and she hummed happily. The sand was soft under the sheet. And she loved how the fabric protected her skin from caking, scratchy grains. This was an amazing night.

Vegeta let out a huff of air to the sky. He expected a retort of some sort. He wanted to lash out at her again. She deserved it. He calmed down, but only just. Parts of him were still seething. Hate loving her? Yes. Sure. Years ago. When it was a damn chore just to be around her and that fucking brat when he was first born! But after his sacrifice to kill Buu, and especially after how damnably domesticated she’d made him these days (he cringed at his behavior at the party), Vegeta’s pride was royally offended at the thought his mate didn’t recognize or appreciate the level of his love by now. 

He smirked to himself: if it was measurable on one of those ancient scouters, his love for her would be over 9000! Oy. That was an embarrassing thought. Maybe he was still a little drunk? Whatever. He was so underappreciated! Just because he didn’t bumble around all happy and stupid like that insipid Kakarrot. Or bright eyed and kissy faced like fucking Gohan, the all-time biggest waste of Saiyan blood. Vegeta knew Bulma didn’t expect any of this from him. More than a decade of loving him just as he was, she wasn’t trying to change him. But fuck, she could be so infuriatingly hurtful with her thoughtless bullshit sometimes! Hurtful? No. Vegeta erased the word from his mind. She didn’t hurt him. Just pissed him the hell off. 

Bulma mused right along with him. Her eyes were unfocused, because her mind was calculating; racing to figure out her next move. Saiyans are fighters. And when you’re the wife of a Saiyan, you must always be fighting. It is the only way to keep their interest. The only way to show how much you love and appreciate the complexity of Saiyan physiology: recognize fighting is what they live for. Then keep giving it to them! She didn’t think Chi-chi was smart enough to figure this out. So, instead of the playful sparing banter Bulma was blessed to share with Vegeta, Chi-chi was forced to become a horrific nag early in life; shrieking every chance she got, because confrontation is the only thing a Saiyan pays attention to. Bulma smirked. If only Chi-chi were clever enough to put two and two together. Oh well. None of her business. But she couldn’t hide her superior Saiyan wife grin. She knew she was the smartest woman on Earth, which is the only reason she, and she alone, could claim to hold the attention of the Prince of all Saiyans. Her brain was why she was the mother of the strongest Saiyan hybrid to date. She immediately knew how she was going to keep up the fight tonight. She knew her next move. And she kept right on smirking the satisfied smirk she learned from her beloved husband. 

Until he noticed. 

“What are you so damn smiley about, wife?” not shifting and continuing to stare at the sky.

She inhaled a pleasant sigh. As though she’d been deep in a happy meditation and couldn’t wait to share it with him: “I was amazed by you and your power, today, my prince,” she smiled serenely, her voice silk. 

“Hmph,” he snorted, cleaning sand from his finger nails, absently. When she didn’t follow up, he smiled, proud of himself and amazed at what happened within him: “I have never felt such rage as when a god laid a hand on you,” he was willing to express that feeling of triumph with her, it was appropriate she should share his pride.

“Oh…” Bulma rose up to an elbow and looked down on him, “No. I meant your power _ballad_ …” and he jerked his head in her direction but she kept right on, exclaiming, with broad arm motions: “Oh, Vegeta! The singing! The dancing! I’ve never seen anything like it! You _have_ to do it again for my birthday _next_ year!” 

Vegeta growled deep in his throat; his eyes shut tight, below an enraged brow. Grains of sand rose in long tendrils around them, disintegrating with the heat of his ki. The very air before Bulma’s eyes became wavy and blurry. 

“Another _unappreciated_ attempt to save your wretched, worthless life, woman…” If his teeth were clenched any tighter, they’d shatter, for sure. 

Bulma ignored him, giggling. This was too easy! But not for long. In a flash, too fast, she was cradled in his arms, with the white hot heat of his anger enveloping her. And he was walking- slowly, purposefully- into the ocean. Realization hit her and she struggled and fought against him: “Vegeta! No! No! Stop! Please! Damn it! Vegeta! Don’t you fucking daarrreeee!!!” On the last word, she was in the air, flying a clean arc away from him, and falling just as fast.

The water was impossibly cold. And she went all the way under, her nose filling painfully with sea salt, since she was screaming when she submerged. It was about 5 feet deep and her butt and back roughly bounced on the sandy, rocky seafloor before she kicked out her legs to stand up in a rush, gasping for air… and livid!!! 

As the water spilled from her ears, she heard it. Over the sound of the surf, rolled the roar of Vegeta’s laughter. He was downright cackling at her. And once she found him, after twisting and turning to orient herself in the darkness, she saw he was _pointing_ at her and laughing!!! 

“Damn you, Vegeta! You ASSHOLE!!”


	5. Twitchy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are twitches.

Her rage made him laugh all the harder. After all this, was he still a little drunk? No matter. He threatened her with the ocean and the creature chose to provoke him anyway. She caught him totally off guard with that damn mockery of hers! Bulma tricked him, he’d admit it. But hell, his mate forgot how swift Saiyan retribution could be! Her pathetic soaked visage shivering from cold and shaking with rage was too much for him! Her makeup smearing down her face and her hair filled with seaweed! Vegeta closed his eyes, chortling, trying to control himself by not looking at her. 

Bulma hadn’t seen him laugh like this in a long time and the sound of it cooled her anger quickly. Besides, she already plotted her next move. She knew how to get him back- just had to get close enough. Nonchalantly, she walked towards the shore. Her hands rubbed her arms from shoulders to elbows, trying to warm up. Vegeta chuckled menacingly, blocking her path as she dodged him and tried to go around.

"Look!" Bulma stomped, a small splash of water spraying up her thighs,"Let me pass!" and she weaved and bobbed. Of course it was no use. And she huffed her displeasure. He looked her up and down with a grin and jeered:

"I like you all wet."

Talking dirty again! This entire night was so out of character for her husband, Bulma was positive if she ever saw Beers again, she'd fill the swimming pool with pudding for him! If an adversary could bring out this scintillating side of her Saiyan, any catering and cleaning bill was well worth it. As she scowled at Vegeta, the playful spark behind her angry eyes wondered how she could invite Beers to her next birthday party? Maybe one of the Kais could call him or something? Since she was never going to make it to shore, Bulma crossed her forearms over her frigid, wet nipples and turned around, taking a few steps into the deeper water.

"Don't walk away," Vegeta ordered, "I enjoy the sight of your pert flesh standing at attention for me." 

"Well, too bad, Buddy!" calling out behind her, she stomped away, smiling in secret. As she walked further from shore, the scientist in Bulma hoped her expectation of his next move was correct. Lately, during their family beach excursions, Vegeta and Trunks have been playing a game in the water. Earlier this summer, they binge-watched all of the "Jaws" movies together...

"Dun Nuh," those two silly notes in Vegeta's burly, playful tone confirmed her schemes. Then Bulma heard the soft sound of him sliding into the water, with a "Dun Nuh, Dun Nuh." Bulma proudly giggled to herself, her body flaring with anticipation. 'Bulma Briefs knows all your moves, Mr. Super Saiyan,' she thought with smug satisfaction. When he doesn't get his hair wet, Vegeta's spikes stick straight up out of the water. So, as he circled in front of her, it was like a freaky, multi-dorsal-finned shark from some cheap sci-fi late night movie. Bulma's mind heard Trunks' echoing laughter and mock screams when he played with his father this way and her heart warmed.

"Dun Nuh, Dun Nuh," Vegeta's face came above the water just long enough to chant the menacing - and it really does sound menacing, coming from him - shark lurk over and over as he swam around behind her, his perfectly round cheeks just about to pass her by. Finally! Access! Bulma made her move.

She shot out her hand and pressed the ball of her thumb hard into his tail scar, raking her finger nails deep over the surrounding flesh in a long, firm scratch of his lower back, her thumb grinding into the round scarred flesh where his tail once grew. 

Vegeta gasped sea water down his throat and shot up, standing straight, water exploding everywhere like a grenade hit below the waves. The haze, his entire body, and especially eyesight, in a disorienting haze. He hadn't felt a sensation this strong from the weakness of his tail since he was a kid, before he learned to overcome the paralysis-inducing appendage. In the fog, he could make out Bulma's thumb pressing down in tight little circles, the tips of her finger nails swirling along the raised, twitching nubs, teasing. Vegeta's mouth hung open and eyes wide, his throat graveling unintelligible "Ahh...argh..." out through a slack jaw. His entire body seized up with tingling skin for a moment, just a moment more. Then, the shock of vulnerability and exploitation overwhelmed him. Vegeta grabbed her wrist, roughly yanking her hand away.

"How **dare** you?!" and by her wrist, he pulled her up out of the water, slowly into the air, just above the lapping waves, pulling her arm up so that she was eye to eye with him. 

Bulma felt both helpless and powerful- she did this to him!- the dichotomy was intoxicating and it showed. 

“Vulgar woman,” snarled in her face. 

Bulma snickered, unfazed by his anger. He hadn’t called her 'vulgar' in a while! It was quite nostalgic, even romantic, so Bulma kept it going:

“You’re the vulgar one,” chiding, “back at the house, all that face-sucking and heavy petting! In front of everyone we know! And more than a few total strangers!”

He gave her wrist a squeeze. But otherwise ignored the accusation and rumbled: 

“Be prepared to finish what you start.” For explanation, he yanked one of her hands down the front of his body, to his painfully taut erection. 

Oh my! Bulma only teased his tail-spot a couple of times over the years of their relationship. And never so long, or forcefully, as tonight. She’d remember this reaction! What a fun way to wake him up at midnight if she couldn’t sleep or was ready to go! Bulma used her grip on his member to close the distance between their bodies. Sliding her slick, dripping breasts up the density of his pectorals, she cooed: “Well, you did get me wet.”

Vegeta's chuckles came out in a huff, before he violently kissed her, with growing excitement as her mouth fought back. Gods, how she pleased him! The fight in her! The daring, conniving, spirit of this woman! He hoisted her up by her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist. They stood still, expectantly panting into one another’s eyes, several moments, before a heavy thrust began a much more sensual, much longer, and deeply emotional coitus. They were vertical, pounding against one another in the air, just above the water, for half of it. Then Vegeta wanted more traction and pressed her into their sheet on the beach, her ankles on his shoulders, her wrists still clutched in his hands. He released her when, grinding for control and deeper satisfaction, Bulma pushed up from her back, to sit in his lap, her legs coming down his sides, her heels digging in behind him. Riding him this way, him sitting up too, clinging to her back and pushing her body down in time with her bucking hips, their lips rarely detached, Bulma's cascading climax was suffocating her; she might pass out from pleasure. Finally, he wouldn't let her scream, most of their ecstasy muffled and moist into one another’s mouths.

Vegeta fell back against the sheet as he finished with her on top of him. Bulma crumbled and collapsed heavily along his chest. His hands caressed her lower back with real affection and she traced his collarbone with her finger nails. 

After several minutes, he said, sounding a touch ashamed: “It _was_ quite a display I gave them back at the party,”

“Yep!” Bulma chirped happily on his chest, “I really can’t believe you did that!” 

“Don’t get used to it. Today was… unusual.” 

“I know! I’ll have dreams about tonight for the rest of my life, lover.” 

“Hmph.” Thoughtfully, his arms squeezed around her once and released, “The words I used earlier…” preparing, very quietly, to apologize. 

“Oh come on!” Bulma interrupted, smiling against his chest, and quoted him: “‘Vile’? ‘cursed’? 'wretched'? I called you an asshole and a bastard!” 

“My affronts seem more severe…” his voice rumbled under her.

Bulma considered and turned her chin to rest on his clavicle, looking at him: “You were actually a bit angry at me, for real, weren't you?” 

Vegeta averted his eyes, “Control of my faculties went to that damnable alcohol,” his arms protectively flexed about her waist again, “if the power spiking hurt you in any way…” 

“No! No. I get it.” She wanted to jokingly call him a sloppy drunk, but feared getting tossed in the ocean again, “I’ve already forgiven you. If I didn’t have thick skin, I couldn’t handle _anything_ about you,” she giggled, bucking softly into his lap to make her point. 

He chuckled at that. “Trust me, my words are far harsher than I can allow my body to be,” 

“You keep saying that! Like you’re taking it _so_ easy on me! You know that’s not a compliment, right?” 

Vegeta smirked and without a hint of sarcasm: “The alternative is fucking you to death.”

“Hmmm…. Maybe I can whip up some sort of temporary strength serum which would improve the durability of my skin, bones and organs? I’m sure if I used Trunks’ blood as a jumping off point…” 

Vegeta tenderly cupped her chin and made her look in his eyes. 

“Don’t.” 

Her eyebrows rose to question him why. 

He inhaled, the way he always did before saying something important, so she gave her rapt attention, but did not expect: “Because I prefer being soft with you." Again, expressing more by touch than words, his hands lightly roamed her shivering skin. Bulma sighed. She felt tears catch in her throat for the sweetness of this moment and how it must end. But it didn't, because Vegeta sighed with her and said: 

“You are the only soft thing in my life.” 

She melted. Swooned. Her eyes closed as she let the richness of those oh-so-rare words wash over her. He kissed her forehead, as if solidifying the sentence into her flesh. She exhaled deeply and rolled off of him, tucking herself beside him on her back. Bulma opened her eyes to the dark, starry sky, gazing into the reaches of outer space that sent her the Prince, the father of her child, her Saiyan. She tried to remember what it was like looking up at those stars before she knew aliens existed. Before she traveled to distant planets herself. Before she stood face to face with Prince Vegeta for the first time somewhere out there on a tiny doomed planet. Vegeta leaned into her side, an arm draping over her. She couldn't remember what it was like to look at the stars without gratitude for this, for him. And so she simply thanked the heavens once again.


	6. Brotherly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goku is oblivious.

Oh the horror when Goku’s shrill, jovial voice pierced down from above:

" _There_ you are, Vegeta!" 

Bulma clenched her eyes shut, pretending this wasn’t real. She couldn't whisper “What the f-?”” before Vegeta whipped the sheet out from under them, like a tablecloth trick. Bulma didn’t even feel the fabric move, but she knew there was sand under her ass now. Before she could protest, Vegeta shredded the sheet in two, tossing the larger section over her body and wrapping the smaller piece around his waist like a bath towel. 

So much for the drunken exhibitionist! Bulma would never understand the sober modesty of her chiseled husband. What could be shameful about _his_ nakedness? Nothing. Obviously. Still, his loin cloth was tattered at the ends, jagged strings hanging right above his knees. He looked a bit caveman; Bulma liked it.

Goku hovered about twenty feet high, out over the water, hollering down at them: 

“I felt your power spike a few times all the way out here, buddy!”

Vegeta refused to fly up off the beach, shouting skyward: "I am no one's," he spat the word: " _buddy_ Kakarot! And I've warned you about spying on me from the other realm!" 

"I can't help it! I'm always thinking of my friends! And I feel your energy when it surges. What's going on, anyway?" Kakarot looked around dumbly, for some adversary Vegeta might be fighting. "Just training out here at the ocean?" then his mouth watered, "fishing for some late night sushi?" 

"Kakarot, you oblivious oaf! Leave _us_ the fuck alone, will you!?"

"Oh, hi there, Bulma!" Goku waved with enthusiasm, only just noticing her, “Love the toga! You guys throwing a toga party on the beach?!” 

Now even Bulma couldn’t be civil and screeched at her childhood friend: “In the middle of the night, Goku?! Really?! Go away! Leave us alone!” 

Vegeta gave her an approving grin and jeered up at Kakarot: “Why not go home and have a toga party with your own wife?”

Goku laughed, big and loud, then confessed: “Aw, Chi-chi would kill me if I tore good sheets playing dress up! Sides, she’s probably asleep anyway,” he clapped his hands together with a thought: “Since I’m on Earth now, why not get some sparing in?!” 

“Can’t you see I’m busy Kakarot?! Are you _that_ fucking dense?!”

Goku seemed to consider leaving, but stubbornness won: "No, Vegeta. It's just our next enemy is gonna be stronger than us. Better start training now, since you’re gonna be the Super Saiyan God next time!”

At that, Vegeta leapt from the ground to meet Kakarot midair. As he flew overhead, Bulma got a great view of his undercarriage and she chuckled, knowing he did it on purpose. Okay, so maybe the exhibitionist was still around, just for her. 

Immediately assuming his typical cross-armed princely stance in the air before his only legitimate subject, Vegeta barked: "You're psychic now, are you, Kakarot?" with a disgusted chuckle, "What's next?! Palm reading?" 

Goku's brow lowered, forcing his childlike eyes to narrow, full of stern purpose. His 'I'm being serious' face, the only time the ingrate low-born ever truly looked like a Saiyan to Vegeta, who took note. The Prince's chin rose perceptibly to indicate Kakarot should keep talking. 

In a changed voice: "I'm sorry, but it's no joke, Vegeta,” with a sharp inhale, “When I was a god, I... knew things. I felt things. Time was different. Like the past and future happening at once," Goku sighed and closed his eyes, lowering his chin, with a clenched fist: "Somehow I know the next battle will be truly terrible, Vegeta!"

"Every foe we've encountered together was ‘truly terrible,’ Kakarot,” neither impressed nor inspired, “We've shown the universe the strongest warriors are made of pure Saiyan blood!" 

"I know," Goku's voice graveled, surprising Vegeta. Often, a much longer conversation was needed for Kakarot to see reason. 

"Then stop this pitiful worrying and leave me in peace!" 

"It's different this time, Vegeta. The fight will be different. It's... personal. And you're the center of it. You're the one who will be a Super Saiyan God next time, just like we promised," Goku stared concern into Vegeta's eyes. Misplaced concern, the Prince assumed. 

"Good. I'll show you what a real Super Saiyan God is capable of! I will **defeat** my foe, not charm him into showing mercy!"

Goku laughed a single 'ha' from his throat. He loved Vegeta's predictable pride and princely attitude every time they talked like this. These days, it was mostly for show, Goku knew that. So, he appreciated it even more, because part of himself, deep inside, was just like Vegeta: the Saiyan pride that made them brothers. His response, nearly a whisper: "I heard you earlier today, in the desert, while I was fighting Beers," Goku inhaled, "You said you were happy it was me doing the defending this time. That you didn't envy me this fight, for once." 

"Pff," Vegeta exhaled dismissively, "I was positive you would never be powerful enough to defeat him. I assumed we were all going to die," Vegeta couldn't control the instinctual dart of his eyes down to his wife on the beach. Thinking of Bulma perishing, his voice lower: "Even in your god form, you were only delaying the inevitable. So, no. I did not envy you that last, desperate attempt, Kakarot." He closed his eyes. Vegeta's frustration with Kakarot's intrusion waned. Still, with booze and Bulma, he achieved distraction from the realities of the day for a time, and now this bastard drug it all up again! 

Vegeta was fortunate that Goku couldn't be serious for longer than a few minutes strung together. Kakarot's concentration broke and he laughed a high, wide-mouthed, nervous laugh, throwing his hand behind his head and saying: "I guess I don't envy _you_ the fight that's coming either, Vegeta! I just can't figure out why I'm on the sidelines. I hope I'm not dead again, that's all!" and he laughed that ridiculous nervous laugh of his once more. Vegeta knew he had nothing left to gain from this discussion.

"Kakarot, you've spent more of your life dead than alive," he scolded, "Get out of here! Go be with your own wife, for once! And leave me alone with mine!" with his princely head turn, Vegeta was about to descend when he looked back, “Spar with me tomorrow. Meet me in the desert.” 

“It’s after midnight, Vegeta, so do you mean later today? Or like the day after today?”

Vegeta's ki flared, steaming around him as he warned: “Kakarot, I swear to all the Kais if you don’t leave me and my wife in peace RIGHT NOW…!”” 

Goku waved his arms in surrender, while backing away from Vegeta, laughing: “Okay, okay. See you later today, Vegeta!” then he shouted down to the shore: “Bye Bulma!” With the high pitched ping of his instant-transmission, Goku was _finally_ gone. Vegeta hovered only a moment, looking at the spot where his rival had been. Then he made a slow and thoughtful descent back to his Bulma.

She paced the beach, shivering. Vegeta felt right away that rather than making an exaggerated show of her displeasure, she was legitimately too cold, possibly bordering on hypothermic. He hated Kakarot for making Bulma so uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," as he landed, "That fool is hard to shake." 

Bulma was in a fit: "What the hell was that all about!? You should have just blasted him and told him to go the fuck home! What's wrong with him?! Couldn't he see we were..." Vegeta kissed the rage-sputtering out of his wife. He wrapped her up in his much-warmer body and rubbed her shoulders and back to heat her skin and sooth her temper. She purred in his embrace and nuzzled his chest, "Thank you," she whispered, but recovered her anger: "Seriously, though! Did Goku not _get_ that we were naked and alone together in the middle of nowhere?!" 

"No. Of course not. His density is incomparable." 

"What was so important?" Bulma pulled away just enough to look in Vegeta's eyes. Her husband wasn't bashing Goku's idiocy nearly as hard as usual.

"Seems while Kakarot was a god, he had premonitions of our next battle. He wants me to train with him in preparation." Bulma laughed a real squeal of a note which stung Vegeta's ears.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You?! He thought he needed to tell _you_ to train?" and she poked his chest for emphasis: "You! The man who would've spent my entire birthday party alone in his gravity chamber _training_ if Beers hadn't shown up?!" she laughed, mocking him again. Vegeta was not amused. But his voice was more tired than angry when he said:

"Kakarot babbled something about the next fight focusing on me," turning away and beginning to pace, arms clenched in a vice grip across his chest. "He said it would be 'personal', for some reason."

"What the heck does that mean?!"

"How should I know?!" he barked. Then softening, instantly, upon looking at her: "But it concerns me," he took a step closer, "for your safety." Bulma's face read: 'Oh, please!' as she jutted out a hip with a hand on it, glaring at him. He hissed: "I'm serious!" and bowing up on her, in an answer to that bitchy way she was standing: "I still don't know how you survived Beers' hit today!" Vegeta shook her once, like he could shake rational fear into her stubborn head. Bulma knew he was right to worry, she just didn't want to admit it, so she took advantage of his proximity and lowered her cheek to his chest, sighing. Her hands glided up his back, massaging reassurance into every inch of tension that girded him. She felt Vegeta might be giving in, but slowly.

"Why does that imbecile want me to spar with him?” he grouched, “It’s infuriating! He’s surpassed me in every conceivable way."

Bulma disagreed with Vegeta. But needed to consider the right words; needed time to think. But she was so tired. She leaned back, staying in his embrace, but loosening his arms around her, so she could look up at him:

"Let's go home," she whispered. 

Vegeta surrendered. How long had he been awake, now? Fatigue poured over him, from the crown of his head, down his spine, to his ankles, like syrup rolling down pancakes. Vegeta's sigh was deep in his chest and Bulma felt the exhaustion in it. As usual, he shifted gears to irritation "Let's get away from all this blasted sand!" and stepped away, reaching out to lift her up: "I need to sleep before training." 

Bulma's mind chuckled, _training, yes, of course, dear._ Her same old Vegeta was back. The bizarre battle of the gods, and all its delicious aftermath, fully behind them, now. But she didn't argue. There was no point. "Can I ride home on your back? It's a bit more comfortable than being carried." Vegeta shrugged and turned around so she could hike herself onto his hips, hugging his shoulders and more clingy than necessary. He would never let her fall. When he lifted them in the air, she unwrapped her legs from his waist, preferring to stretch them out, so she felt like she, herself, could fly. Vegeta picked up speed as they leveled out some 50 feet up. Bulma wondered what time it was. The sun wasn't rising yet. She was surprised. She thought it might be dawn any minute, but perhaps they weren't out as long as it seemed. Darkness swallowed the landscape to the horizon. Even the moon was covered by clouds. The darkening atmosphere fit the sullen shift in her husband as they flew home in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. New Akira Toriyama DBZ series "Dragon Ball Super" should be called "DBZ Can't Even." Because I can't even so hard. Thank you Akira Toriyama for coming back to DBZ in a BIG way with two amazing movies AND a new series. <3
> 
> Also. Guys. We're the best fandom ever!! We brought a show back, with many original ppl writing, voice acting and producing, after nearly 2 decades (18 years!?) Some of you readers weren't even BORN when the last episode of DBZ aired. Now you're freaking adults! I love this. ~Sintina


	7. Exactly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My spouse, myself.

As the cool night air whipped his spiky hair against her cheek, Bulma used the little slaps to keep awake; trying to tease sense from her weary mind. She needed to force one more bit of sentimentality before she lost him to the void of training and vigilance. This 'Goku is better than me at everything forever' shit needed to stop. Bulma was done with it. Plus, she did have a ton of work to do. Yesterday, she took a day off. Today, they'd go their usual separate ways for a few months, seeing one another only at meals and in bed. She could feel it coming. In fact, for some reason, it felt like she'd see even less of him than usual. The ominous Goku warning had her on edge. Before she knew it, they were home. He landed on their balcony. They'd left the French doors open. He set her down on the bed and turned to retrieve a new sheet out of their closet, still in stoic silence. How freaking annoying! On top of his moodiness, the bedroom, even with the doors open, was stuffy in comparison to the beach. And she felt everything continuing to fly by, like they were still in the air. Damn it! She rolled her eyes. Can't go to sleep now! The bed was so inviting, but she had to resist!

Vegeta tossed a sheet beside her. It didn't match the others. Bulma groaned, leaning back, she supported herself with one hand on the new fabric. He thought she might throw it back at him. Was she whining about the color of a sheet? Vegeta wouldn't have it: 

"What the devil's the matter with you, wife?" 

"I'm all dehydrated," she moaned, her right hand on her forehead, still trying to support herself with the left. If she fell back on the oh-so-inviting softness, she'd pass out in minutes, but, "I'm gonna have a hell of a hangover if I don't get some water and a snack!"

"I suppose you expect me to go down and get them for you?" sneering and heading for the bathroom. Bulma hated his tone! She felt too sick to be compassionate towards mixed Goku feelings right now. Her desire to check his self-deprecating crap faltered.

"Listen, you!" but he turned around and raised a hand to hush her, tilting his head at the door. Both Bulma and Vegeta heard the sound of people in their living room downstairs.

Vegeta's hackles raised. Yes. He needed a fight. And for once, he didn't feel like bickering with Bulma. He felt like hitting someone. Someone who deserved it. If there were intruders in the Capsule Command, oh yes. That would be appropriate. But the sounds became recognizable as... laughter? The couple looked at one another in confusion and concern, until Bulma heard Krillin and Yamcha's voices.

"I guess we're not the only ones who can party all night long?" She tried to joke, but Vegeta was beyond not in the mood. His eyes flashed understanding before a harsh hissing whisper:

"What the fuck are those leeches still doing in our house?!" And would the woman hate him if he beat these douchebags to near death, but gave them a sensu bean to walk it off? Vegeta considered using Bulma's snack and water as an excuse to get downstairs and pummel them. He stomped towards the door, but she, with negative agility, leapt up and, stumbling, latched onto him: 

"Vegeta! Don't." Seeing the question 'Why the fuck not?!' in his eyes, she pleaded: "For one thing, I don't want any of these people driving or flying home in their state," she wobbled; the jump from the bed made her nauseous. Vegeta felt how unwell she was and kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. She recovered: "also, if you bellow at them, you'll wake the kids and I am _so_ not capable of dealing with screaming children yet." Bulma released him to massage her temples with two fingers. Vegeta considered her and checked his angered breathing; trying to stem the urge to mutilate. He'd forgotten Goten slept over. But he sensed both were indeed still sleeping. He listened to the television's channels clicking in rapid succession below:

"It appears," he clutched the door frame, hairline cracks splintering out from under his grasp, "if I don't go down there before long, the revelers will wake everyone up, regardless."

"Shit! You're right!" Bulma clung to his shoulder to remain upright and saw the door as an impediment to her much-needed sustenance. "I'll go down with you." As she started to open the door, the couple simultaneously remembered they were wearing nothing but torn-sheet-togas. Locking eyes at the mutual recognition, he flustered for a fleeting second and there was a moment of mirth for her. Reclaiming himself, Vegeta leaned Bulma against the wall, before retrieving house clothes for them both from a drawer. He was dressed before she even had the items in her hands. She blinked at him, taut tank-top and training shorts, damn it. She loved that stuff! He'd given her a short 'Bulma' bare mid-drift tee and a pair of yoga pants. Her helplessness annoyed and amused him as she fumbled with her knotted toga against the door.

"Don't tell me I have to dress you?"

"No! Don't you dare!" She shimmed up the pants. He was right, spurring her got the job done.

Vegeta let her hang on his shoulder, like a wounded warrior, as they made their way down the stairs. He didn't want to fly or use ki and alert the others to their presence. Bulma was his priority anyway; making sure she didn't puke the bed or end up hung over and bitchy all day tomorrow! Vegeta avoided the irritation of the impromptu after-party in the living room, taking her to the kitchen, first. As soon as they were safely in front of the refrigerator, Bulma detached herself from Vegeta and dove in. She chugged a third of a gallon jug of water in big, throat-rolling gulps, then passed the remainder to Vegeta who turned it up, finishing the contents in a swallow or two. Bulma made a few plates of snacks- mostly bread and cheese based, it seemed- put them on a tray to take upstairs, munching on crackers as she did so. He turned to the living room door. What were those idiots doing upstairs? Why the fuck weren't they still in the basement bar? At least down there, they didn't run the risk of raising the whole household this early in the damnable morning!

Finally, Bulma seemed satisfied with her haul and Vegeta nodded that there was enough food for him to get a bite before sleeping. Why didn't Vegeta pig out right here in the kitchen like normal? She set all sorts of food right in front of him. He had to be just as hungry as she was! She noticed he faced the living room. Oh yeah. The TV was on, there was laughter, bumping of furniture and the sounds of cans clattering. Kami, how she wanted to ignore it. He appeared to read her mind:

"We must either kick them out or send them downstairs. This nonsense will wake Trunks and Goten any minute." 

Bulma slumped. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed, gorge and pass out. The ruckus in the living room shifted, then, to chanting or.. singing? Vegeta's brow tightened, he hated drunken caterwauling. On the other side of the door:

"For Beers was a jolly big pussy! For Beers was a jolly big pussy!" Krillin and Yamcha locked elbows, stomping round and round together and chanting their little song with Oolong and Roshi clapping and slurring along from recliners on either side. Paur, snoring in little squeaks, splayed across a cushion on the couch. "For Beers was a jolly big puuuusss-eey! Which nobody..." Everyone froze when the kitchen door opened. 

"How clever." Vegeta leaned against the domed doorway, looking in on the revelers and oozing disgust. Bulma could be seen, blurry-eyed, but angry as hell, behind him in the kitchen. "I'm sure the _God of Destruction_ has heard your derogatory slur in reference to his feline form before." He shot a small ki blast at Yamcha and Krillin's feet, singeing the carpet. A tendril of black smoke rose from the mark. "What _'nobody can deny'_ is you cowards don't have the balls to say it to his face."

Bulma laughed, appearing in the doorway. She leaned on the other side of the frame from Vegeta. In a quiet, but no less terrifying screech: "If you morons wake the children upstairs- **you** will be babysitting and entertaining them all day!" She stood with her arms crossed, exactly like Vegeta, leaning opposite him. Krillin gaped at them: same stance, same angry face, same everything! It was clear why Bulma and Vegeta were such a power-couple. They were practically the same person! With a wide smile, he proclaimed it for everyone: 

"Look you guys!" pointing, "They're practically the same person!"

Vegeta and Bulma straightened up in tandem, embarrassed, insulted, or both. Their simultaneous movements only reinforced the mirror effect! Yamcha and Krillin started giggling high pitched glee. Master Roshi's feet pushed off the floor, throwing him backwards in his recliner: 

"They **are**! Would you look at that?!" pointing and "hee-hee-hee"-ing like the old coot he was. Neither Bulma nor Vegeta could stop making the same gestures- balling fists, leaning forward to threaten, bowing up, veins popping from their faces- it was too much for their drunken counterparts. At last, Bulma charged into the room, grabbed Roshi by the collar of his shirt and pulled him up in the recliner to face her.

"If you guys don't get the fuck downstairs," she stomped her foot, "I'll _show_ you just how similar Vegeta and I can be!!" 

"Oh..." came Krillin's voice from above and behind her, "we get it..." she looked up. Vegeta hovered in the air with both Yamcha and Krillin suspended by shirt collars, glaring them down exactly as she had Roshi! Vegeta half-smiled at her, a quick smirk of acknowledgment at the absurdity of all this. Bulma smiled right back. He thought the whole mirror thing was funny! How 'bout that? Krillin wriggled in Vegeta's grasp: "You guys are equally scary!" 

Mr. and Mrs. Vegeta dropped their collective prey. Yamcha landed hard on the floor and immediately stood to rub his sore rear. Krillin landed on his head and bounced once. Roshi's arms flailed as he, and the recliner, toppled backwards. Oolong was the only one spared. He cowered behind the couch where Paur continued to snooze. He poked his head around: 

"We-we were gonna leave, Bulma, honest!" stammering, "We, we-were on our way out the door, when we started talking here in the living room and someone turned on the TV and then we, well, we...we got to hanging out..." 

Vegeta laughed a single "Ha!" and kicked the couch, jostling the pig behind it, "We-we-we, huh? Why don't you we-we-we all the way home, little piggy?" 

Oolong snorted, but didn't show his face again, pouting. He hated pig jokes so damn much and he'd walked right into one! The worst part was everyone snickered. Krillin full-on slapping his mouth with his hands in a hearty "ppfpffffft!" of suppressed chortling. Why did Oolong hang out with these people? The old 'friends like these, who needs enemies?' line rang in his reddening ears.

Yamcha waved his arms in surrender, "All right, all right already," slurring and picking up Paur from her cushion, "we're going, we're going! Jeez." Bulma shoved them towards the basement door:

"Just get downstairs! I'm not paying for a taxi all the way to Kami house! Most of the sofas down there pull out into beds. Sleep it off!" she pulled Oolong up from the floor to shove him after them, "all of you!" 

When the intruders were finally behind the door and their sullen stomps down the steps faded, Vegeta caught Bulma before she fell face forward into the entertainment center. Her grip on his arm was loose and her fingers dry. 

"Woman..." he felt she might faint, "get some more water and get to bed." Bulma looked at his reddened eyes and chapped lips. 

"You don't look so great yourself, mister!" She stood on her own, obstinate, walking to the kitchen, clinging to objects occasionally for support. She got a hover platform to carry the overfilled tray of snacks and water from the counter, then looked back at him. He did look haggard, well, as tired and groggy as Vegeta could look, the handsome asshole. She sniffed: "We make quite the pair," and turned to head upstairs. He watched her walk away for a minute, then knowing she was out of earshot muttered: 

"Hmph. Yes we do." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "DBZ Super" announcement made me write, write, write to finish After Party AND start a new B/V fic to form a "Between Movies" series, starting with this one. 
> 
> Let me know what scenarios you'd like to see happen BETWEEN Battle of Gods and Revival of F!!  
> I'll write what you want to see between the movies. Bulma goes to AA (because Trunks thinks she's a drunk)? A DBZ chick fight? Trunks in serious trouble? Vegeta tries to bake? These are some ideas I've had. Tell me yours! 
> 
> Did I mention I'm STOKED for DBZ Super? Because I am. And I haven't even seen Revival of F yet. ~ Sintina


	8. Mouthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're better than him.

Deep down, he knew his weakness in comparison to Kakkarot didn’t mean anything to Bulma. But on the surface, his Saiyan blood waged war on his psyche. If Bulma were Saiyan, she’d leave Vegeta to throw herself at Kakkarot, a much more powerful male. Of course, his mind flashed an image of naked Saiyan Bulma, her heated yearning for a darkly different version of Kakkarot who might have been, once. Vegeta shook his head to rid the rising revulsion. Bulma was his mate, and not Saiyan, thank the Kais, but certainly the greatest Earthling female. She deserved to be the wife of THE most powerful Saiyan in the universe. The old annoyance irked him something fierce. He felt a twinge in his tail spot. If the appendage still grew, he'd be flicking it in anger, like a riled cat. His mate was married to second best. She would be queen of Vegeta-Sei in another life. No, preposterous. There was little about his childhood home, or any alternate imagined future, which he craved. Without Freiza and the death of everyone and everything the Saiyan Prince once was, Vegeta would be living without Bulma today. He offered quiet respect to the ghost of the old fey for that much, at least. Ugh. Merely thinking of Frieza made Vegeta's skin prickle with past anxieties. He lingered in the kitchen, faltering on whether or not to go upstairs to her at all. Would it not be better to head to the gravity chamber? Clear his mind in the sweat and silent focus of extreme physical endurance? He didn't know if he could look at Bulma right now. But still he didn't move one way or the other. He took a swallow of water from the near-empty jug she'd left behind.

Worst of all, she was quieter ever since they left the beach. Silence was suspicious in the Briefs household. Everyone knew it. Despite always saying he wanted her to shut up, Bulma's silence was disconcerting and worrisome to Vegeta. It usually meant something was wrong and tension begins to build. Vegeta had enough tension for one fucking day. Yet, when she left the kitchen, Bulma looked inviting, as always. And he could no longer deny his fatigue. Plus, she'd taken all the most accessible snack food with her. The water sloshed in his empty stomach. And Vegeta was not about to make himself something to eat.

As she stripped to get into bed, munching on grapes and cheese, Bulma began piecing together exactly what she needed to say to him. The 'Goku thing' was always like this. She had to make sure not to trigger any of his butt-hurt rivalry bullshit, while also making him feel better. It was especially difficult when he was angry, but she hoped the comical scene in the living room calmed him down, some. As water and food finally began lubricating her synapses, Bulma tried to consider her timing. Was tonight, now, after his ‘soft’ confession, appropriate to remind him what she thought of his lifelong rivalry? Was Vegeta ‘done’ with sentimentality for the evening? Would he resent her efforts? So many factors her brain rolled over like complex calculus, weighing scenarios and solutions.

She finished off the sleeve of cookies she'd been devouring and slid into a short satin nighty of a robe with ribbon ties at the bust. It wasn't for him. She loved this thing. The cool fabric soothed her dry skin like all the lotions in the bathroom she didn't feel like putting on. Similarly, she had some "squishy" socks, as she called them, like wrapping your feet inside a warm teddy bear. She bent over to put one on when Vegeta walked into the room behind her.

"Nice view."

"Not bad yourself, Mr. Flyover," she straightened and wiggled her toes in her blissful socks, "You've really got to try a pair of these, Vegeta."

He didn't respond, of course, but closed in on the food tray hovering next to her: "Did you eat all the cookies?!"

"I saved a sleeve just for you," and she produced it from the bottom of the pile, tumbling a few things off onto the bed. Vegeta turned up the sleeve, smacking five of the soft chocolate chip delights in a single mouth full. She tried a feeler to see how talkative he might be: "Thanks for helping with the living room." Over a large bite of cold meat bun, he gave her the look of knowing she was up to something. Then turned his back to toss off his tank top in preparation for bed. She shrugged, undeterred, and made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth. He motioned to the food platter as he sat down and it obeyed, hovering over the center of the mattress. He sat up straight against the headboard, casually stuffing his face, waiting for Bulma to tell him what the hell bothered her. He had no desire to share his internal vexations. It was up to her to initiate. Time was on his side, if she waited too long, a full belly would have her snoring despite any of her intentions.

Bulma's teeth brushing was noticeably aggravated. Vegeta smirked at her discomfort in a situation of her own making. He didn't feel any of the tension he expected, so whatever she stewed over, it wasn't his fault. Meaning he could sit back and enjoy the show. Unfortunately, as she exited the bathroom in a noticeable huff, he was out of spectator food.

Bulma swatted the tray away and marveled at its emptiness. "Did you eat the wrappers too?" 

"Of course not." He shifted over as she got into bed. Laying down out of his lounge, he hit the button on the edge of the headboard, turning off the light on his side, trying to avoid further discussion.

Bulma switched her own light off, luring him into a false sense of security. After settling in and shimming her head down into her pillow, she turned her face towards him: "I thought you might be rage eating?" 

Vegeta's eyes had been on the ceiling, but when she spoke, he sighed, more out of boredom than anything, "You will not bait me, woman." To prove the point he rolled over with his back to her. But sensing this might be a sign of weakness, he continued just to win the exchange: " _You've_ been quiet since we left the beach."

Exasperated, she slapped her hands down on either side of her, jostling the mattress: "I'm worried about _you,_ of course!" 

"Foolish and irrational. There's nothing wrong with me." Vegeta closed his eyes. Time for sleep.

Bulma huffed. "Yeah right!" she beat his shoulder with a throw pillow, "You've been angry ever since talking to Goku!"

"He interrupted us!" Vegeta burst, sitting up and twisting around, he snatched the throw pillow from her hands. The _'I was right!'_ look on her face annoyed him and he sprang from the bed. It wasn't his fault. It was fucking Kakkarot's fault. She should know that!

"So, are you still sparring tomorrow then?" It was a simple enough question, but it set Vegeta pacing. 

“Of course I’m going to spar with him!” gripping the throw pillow in both hands like a head he might crush, "But why does he want to spar at all?" clearly talking to himself now, Bulma just listened and watched him pace. "Kakkarot has nothing to learn from me. If we are to face a new adversary, we need a new master to train us…" 

"Are there more gods?" Bulma broke in. Vegeta glared at her. She pressed through: "I mean, I didn't know about any others besides Kami and the Kais. But Beers was this 'god of destruction'. Could there be others like him to train you?" 

Vegeta considered. But grew annoyed at the impossibility of it all. "Regardless, despite all I achieved today, he..." Vegeta's fist clenched, balling up the pillow, turning away from Bulma, "he quickly surpassed me." Deep in the knotted mess of his soul, the voice of his defeated and dying self on Nameck strangled up to his mind: _and he always will._ Vegeta couldn't stand the four walls confining him here anymore. There was no way he'd be sleeping now.

Bulma planned for him to shut her out and try to run. Fortunately, she felt rejuvenated after eating and knew just how to keep him in this room as well as quiet his mind so she could talk him down. Vegeta was preparing to announce he’d have to train to exhaust himself if he wanted any sleep at all. She'd played this game before. She wouldn't see him for two days. As he opened his mouth, she interrupted him:

"Who said I was done with you, my Prince?" and she rose from the bed, shedding the loose nightgown over naked shoulders as she did so.

"What are you...?" but Vegeta knew exactly what was about to happen when she kneeled in front of him. And as much as he wanted to argue, there _were_ only two ways to get out his frustration right now. Bulma's solution was certainly preferable to exploding a few dozen training bots. He handed the throw pillow down to her and she looked up at him, questioning. "For your knees," he groused.

Bulma smiled, securing the softness between her joints and the floor: "You've even fluffed it for me," she chuckled and before he could bite back, she rubbed both hands up and down his inner thighs, then back up to the softness where they met. Massaging the entirety of his package through the fabric, she paid attention to his scrotum, like rubbing the scruff of an animal's neck, it seemed to relax all surrounding muscles at once. Except for one, of course. As it hardened, she divided her hands to separate tasks: one gliding along and extending the length of him, the other continuing to massage his inner thighs and balls. One of Vegeta's hands clutched her shoulder in approval and she looked up to see his eyes closed, but brow knit down, as if concentrating. That wouldn't do. She needed considerably more relaxation out of him.

She rose up a little and nipped at the brim of his shorts, tugging them outward with her mouth, not losing a beat of palpitation with her hands. As her teeth played with the fabric, she breathed deliberately on the skin of his lower stomach, humming as it tightened and twitched. His grip on her shoulder pushed her backwards just enough for his free hand to banish the offending garment and set her to task. He impulsively pushed her back down to face him fully.

Vegeta wasn't just a mouth or a hands man, he liked both in good supply. This was to Bulma's advantage, as she'd just eaten and wouldn't be deep-throating right now without making a huge mess. So, she spit in her hands, the sound of which made his member twitch up at her, and dialed her moist digits around the shaft with varying pressure as her mouth languished each of his testicles in turn as though they might be decadent candies with a melty center she just had to suck her way to enjoying. Vegeta's breathing grew satisfyingly ragged above her. The loose skin coating his orbs tightened in her mouth. He tasted like sea water and sand, which reminded her of earlier and made her ache for him to take her again. 

But right now wasn't about her. Right now, she was on her knees revering the Prince of Saiyans with all the adoration she truly held for him. Her mouth moved upwards, slow and luscious, her slick palms back down to the tightness at the junction of his thighs, one on each half of his pelvic V. Her mind strayed to imagining herself as a slave girl in his harem on Vegeta-Sei. Bulma would convince him to make her his queen. She was that good. The fantasy expressed itself in her tongue and lips as they passed over the head of him, not sucking at all, yet. Just enjoying the feel and taste as he throbbed. Vegeta's musk was grainy, like warm wheat dough in the sun, or the inside of an old bakery. Rising and falling with slow, meaningful tongue curls, she covered most of him in her mouth, using one hand to complete the strokes to his base. Her other hand now clung to his hip for support, the pads of her fingers digging in with only the slightest of occasional nail grazes.

He vocalized for the first time and she knew they were getting somewhere. His rear leaned back against a dresser, his knees no longer supporting him fully as he was taken over by the sensations when she commenced breathing through her nose and sucking in earnest with her mouth all the way up and back down, tongue flicking, twirling and lapping in surprising variations, so that each stroke was slightly new and unexpected. He began to thrust and she stopped moving her head, knowing it was better to control his pace with a steady mouth than to fight it with her head and neck. His palm rose from her shoulder to the crown of her hair, not pushing her face, but holding it in place. It was mostly lip, tongue and hand play now as he fucked into her mouth of his own accord. Now to avoid gagging by gripping around the base of him with her full hand, stroking in time with his thrusts, to control how far into her throat he intruded.

She felt veins throb under her tongue, then the surge of that single swollen internal tunnel as his orgasm rushed the length of him and she pulled back just enough to not choke on his cum as it spurted against the roof of her mouth. She opened her eyes upwards and saw him looking down at her, relaxed brow at last, so she pulled her lips slowly over and off his smooth cap to let the last twitches of ejaculate hit her lips, chin and dribble downward. His body shuddered appreciation at the sight and she smiled up at him, satisfied he was putty in her hands, she licked the icing bits of him off her lips and purred when he clenched his eyes with a "Damn."

"Thank you, wife," he exhaled long and throaty, cradling the back of her head in his wide palm, "how is it you always know..."

"When you need that?" standing up to meet his eyes, wiping her nose and mouth in one long swath along her wrist, "You become a testy, whining little baby?" He snorted a laugh, smirking as much with his hazy, moist eyes as his crooked lips. She chuckled at his sex-drunk face, pinching his bicep, "it's like knowing when Trunks needed to be burped. You Saiyans are so fussy!"

"Bold words." He squeezed her rear as she walked towards the bathroom, "Must be all that Saiyan juice coursing through you," he huffed at his own joke: "top to bottom." 

She laughed a single: "ha!" bending over the sink, to splash her face with water, "the day I need your cum to make me bold, you better kill me! Cause I've gone senile," she rose, wiping her face with a large makeup removal cloth, paying particular attention to the already drying, crusty bits caking on the tip of her chin. "Will you come to bed for real, now, finally?" 

In answer, he flopped onto the mattress, rolled on his side and patted the vacant spot, looking up at her with wide expectant eyes. Gods, he could be so fucking cute. How was this the same guy? His multi-faceted depths enthralled her.

She crawled up and under the sheets. Cuddling into his chest, she swirled her fingernails along his collarbone and sighed. He knew what she wanted.

"Say your piece, wife," he yawned, "before your efforts sedate me completely." 

Fine. He asked for it: “Vegeta, you’ve beaten Goku already.” 

That got his attention. Then he cringed, thinking Bulma might've slept with the third class trash sometime in the distant past. Was she about to say ‘don’t worry, you’re a better lover’ or something?! Because, _of course,_ that’s where Saiyan pride took his mind. The air in the room thickened as he looked at her, expecting the worst.

She leaned higher on her forearm and looked down into him: “You’re a better husband and father, in every way, than Kakkarot will ever, or could ever be.” 

His eyes widened in surprise for a moment, then squinted sideways at her, demanding an explanation.

She smiled and began, “Chi Chi is younger than me, in the prime of her life..."

"She looks ten years your senior!" It was Vegeta's turn to rise. He leaned back on the headboard. Vegeta started to pride himself in judging the years of humans, who aged radically differently than Saiyans. It'd never occurred to him that Kakkarot's mate could possibly be _younger_ than his own. 

"She's miserable in her marriage," Bulma's voice mourned the death of her friend's youth, "That'll age a woman faster than smoking!”

Vegeta shook his head once in disgust, "I never could imagine that boorish oaf keeping a woman happy.”

“Exactly! Vegeta, he’s one of my oldest, dearest, friends, but Goku is not a grown man. He's the same kid I met 30 years ago. He’s still got this innocent, lackadaisical vibe all the time! He takes no responsibility for those kids of his…” 

“Gohan grew to be such a wretched disappointment,” Vegeta venom-ed.

“Right?! If he could've fought Buu, you might not have had to sacrifice yourself," she noticed the darkening of that defeat on his countenance and shifted gears: "Goten will never be as powerful as our Trunks,”

“Damn right!”

“What I’m saying, lover,” her voice softening to all seriousness, “You’ve won this competition with Goku you’ve had your whole life. He may get 20 minutes of glory every time there’s a battle, but for the other 364 days a year, you’re better than him,” she rose to kiss him and just above his lips: “In every way, my Prince.”

It was not the way he wanted to defeat Kakkarot. But she was right. The prince’s quality of life was infinitely better than his rival’s. And he knew something else just then, for certain: 

“I will overpower him,” looking down and into her, “because of you. Because I have what he doesn’t. You are all I’ll need to surpass him. I just have to wait," his smile and eyes growing a touch manic as he spoke, "Without the partnership of a fiery, challenging woman like you, that pitiful Kakkarot is missing one of the greatest strengths we Saiyans have found at the end of our time in this universe." He beat his side of the bed with a fist: "Ha! Even his worthless son bested him on that one!" Vegeta's voice rose to a wicked rasp: "It’s only a matter of time before the burst of power I amass when you’re in danger is more than anything he could _ever_ achieve!”

Vegeta cackled a small success. Then kissed her, closed mouth, but fierce. Hugging her tight, he slid back down onto the pillow to sleep, at last. Bulma smirked up at him. Of course _this_ is where he’d take her sentiment.

But he wasn’t disagreeing with her.

He believed these good things about himself as a husband and father. That her Prince could finally, for the first time, see himself through her eyes, was the best birthday present of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are chocolate-coffee-crack for writers. I need my fix! 
> 
> What's after the After Party? Discuss: What do you want to see happen between Battle of the Gods and Revival of F?!  
> Because I'm writing what you want! 
> 
> Thanks so very very much for reading!!!! <3 you all ~Sintina


End file.
